The words over at Three Word Wednesday are corpse, damage and knife. A salute to All Hallow’s Eve.

Urban HuntingA corpse, drained of its blood, its other fluids, takes on a translucence that is unmatched in nature. Especially when it’s lit in a darkened alley by a building floodlight – and especially if there’s a mist that dews droplets on the cold flesh.I know. I do the draining. I cause the damage.The first was a cluster-fuck, blood everywhere. A decent Burberry suit burned in the trash incinerator, along with a cheap pair of Thom McAn shoes I was happy to part with.The second was better, the Ka-Bar knife doing its job with wicked efficiency. And no blood on the clothing, not with the cheap plastic raincoat I found (in bulk) on 51st.The third, well the third is where I hit my stride.I’m a known commodity. Ask and you shall receive. I know how to acquire things. The things you have no earthly idea how to get.The little fuck actually called it blow – seriously, who calls it blow these days? – and I told him to meet me at 11 around the corner.“You don’t have any on you?” he whined.A tilt of the head, raised eyebrows and he was off.Just enough time to get another Ka-Bar.What? You think I reuse, recycle? You know how many Ka-Bars are out there in so many shitty pawn shops – where an extra deuce makes the memories fade?“Dude, you don’t know how happy I am that you’d hook me up,” he says as a way of greeting. “Big night tonight, need to be on my game.”“Oh, don’t I know it,” I say. “Follow.”The manhole is already open, but the rain has already stopped – and that has made me a bit melancholy. Wet paper is stuck to the asphalt and it shines wet with the light from the lone spotlight.“Nice raincoat – looks like a giant condom.”And the Ka-Bar pierces his chest, just below the sternum through the transverse abdominal muscles and I twist to sever the abdominal aorta. My lambskin-gloved palm muffles his surprise.And the guy drops where he stands – to the left of the open manhole.I drop the Ka-Bar down the hole, produce a pair of emergency scissors that I swiped from the ER (these I keep) and cut away the dude’s cheap suit. Down the manhole they go, along with the raincoat. The body I move to the open hole, position the body spread-eagle, like Da Vinci Man.And watch the skin cool to its spectacular translucence.

exquisite! loved every word. Of course, coming from someone who consumed every Dexter book out there well before the tv series appeared, I loved the whole from-a-serial-killer perspective. Heck I like almost everything dark :) especially when mixed with humor.

Thom Gabrukiewicz is both a communicator and a writer of flash fiction. Most of what he writes is kind of dark, with occasional forays into the light.
He’s a winner of some awards and has covered two Winter Olympics. He’s also written a guidebook about hiking with dogs.
He’s fiercely loyal and has a malevolent side that seems to visit less and less. He’s both a hopeless romantic and a realist.
He's currently working on community wellness issues in Wyoming.